


Persistence of Memory

by Requiem (GoldenHavoc)



Series: October Dust [4]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: A lil fluff, Anniversary Talk, Batman can suck it, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Haunted by the past, Heist Aftermath, Multi, Sleepy Eddie, Sleepy everybody, a day in the life of Riddler's lovely henchwomen, a lil angst too, a lil sad, mutual fondness, not literally Nina is just not overly fond of him for reasons, not the anniversary you expecting, philosophical tendencies now and then, the slightest mention of Jonathan / Edward if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 09:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16344251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenHavoc/pseuds/Requiem
Summary: “Nina, are you okay?“ Diedre asked.Unfortunately, Nina was never prepared for this question, and thus could never think of a satisfying answer in return.Was she doing okay? In doing so, what was ’okay‘ nowadays? She wondered rarely and why should she? There was no good reason to be not ’okay‘. And without good reason, how dare she ought to behave differently from a working and flourishing image of modern life. It kept no logic inside. Eddie thrived on logic, and she wasn’t averse to the concept either, as difficult as it was for her to maintain it most times.“Yes.“ She inspected her intertwined hands. Outside, another siren called. Crows caved at the clouds. Her weapon rubbed warm and firm against the fabric of her jeans.They had escaped. They spent the night in an apartment and not in jail. It was, simply put, another day in paradise; all they needed right here, within each other, in that promiscous range between acceptable and ever close to collapse.“It's fine. I'm just exhausted. It's been a long night.“The next lie slips faster from your tongue than the first. Always does.





	Persistence of Memory

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Whumptober prompts (which I'm way behind with but nyeh whatever *throws this at you*.
> 
> Prompt 19 : Exhaustion

She watched as night fell upon the rooves and wound a smogged layer of sickened blue around tiles and cobblestone.

The darkness followed gathering, the routine of laying one life to sleep while opening the eyes of the other slow and persistent. Gloom curled around street lamps till light rose inside their hollow heads, the dirtied glass dimming every gleam that sprung, suiting the city's grim facade.

The beer was already tepid when she brought it to her lips. She took a long sip nevertheless feeling the earthy taste flow down her throat. Her eyes roamed the ragged outline of Gotham, skyscrapers no more than giant shadows in mirrors of umber. Screeching tires and drunken laughter rode down the streets underneath. For a moment, quick and bruised, the memory of home once abandoned and own trips she and her crew of pubescent teenagers had dared to undertake invaded her thoughts. She had been younger than most, yet lack of age weighed out with wildness and the ones who made fun of her first came to regret soon after.

The boys had cheered when the rivets on her stolen leather jacket glistened, the girls had screeched with every shot she aimed at empty bottles. They had lined them up in the backyard of someone nameless, a blank figure leaving his house during vacation. Too easy to use it as their own with neighbours giving them _those looks_ but fear sewing their mouth. They had reason to fear. Some of their group did not carry baseball bats for nothing and nobody liked a snitch.

Ol’ Jenkins got a taste of it and afterwards all he was _able_ to taste was hospital food at St. Mary’s.

Good times. Bloody good times.

_Glass shards on the floor. A scream muffled by woolen blankets she hid under._

_Pacing, Pacing. Heavy steps on wood._

_NINA_

_Heart thrumming in her chest. The echo of rapid breath. Quiet, now. Shht. Moaning._

_Don’t say a word._

_(He’ll hear you hear you)_

_Laughter. After. Bloody Laughter._

Closing her eyes, she could still hear the faint clink of bullets hitting every target she chose. She’d always preferred the echo to the real shot, the shards of creaked glass hidden in dust her only trophy, a luster in vermillion eve. Yet as a trophy rather gazed at than kept, she'd have bled by picking them up. Unlike most and more valuable items in her future, she let them lay in the grass for bare feet to bite on. Sometimes she wondered whose skin they had scratched thanks to her malice.

Her loose gaze focused on the can in her hand and the rusty clink of denting sheet in her ears. A sharp scent of heated iron grasped her nose, followed by a mirage so red her free hand itched for the hold of the 9mm that was usually placed on her hip. She recalled to have dumped it on the kitchen table inside the apartment as they had crossed the threshold with heavy sacks of cash and an exhausted grin on their faces.

That had been one hour ago. The money was stashed in a small safe behind Salvador Dalí's _Persistence of Memory_ , a painting which various meanings Eddie good-naturedly lectured them about on occassion – though neither Diedre nor she had ever been fond of art. A trait he didn’t tire of criticizing in his best moods. But as much as she loved Eddie, diffluent clocks dictating the volatility of time simply weren’t her forte, nor did she think a buried dude beating his brush on canvas could teach her more depth about life than she already needed to know. She doubted Dalí ever held a gun in his hand and even if, what would he have done? Combining it with a bowl next to a banana and call it _Steel Fruit_ probably. Some men simply had no use in this world.

_“Men have no use but hurt,“ she said._

_Burnt pancakes in the morning. Cigarette ash and sugar powder. Glassy eyes._

_„Momma?“_

_“Stop crying, dear. He won’t come back, I promise.“_

_“And if? What if?“ Smoke winding up the ceiling. Pause. Breath._

_“Still know where the shotgun is, don’t you?“_

_A tear in her cereal._

_…_

_“Yeah.“_

Throwing a last glance at the view only a penthouse's 37th floor in the middle of nowhere could provide, she turned her back and slipped beneath the calm cement bowels of the building.

After the cool apathy of evening the bouffant indoor air plunged on her like a towel. She looked around, eyes squinting at the scene. The living room, plastered with more shades of green she'd ever think healthy for normal people shone grey in the barely lit dark, the flickering TV a sole source of light. It was peacefully quiet, no anticipation or threat to detect. The bat had never found them here and beyond reason she hoped it to stay that way. Eddie owned many places using a false name and real money, but this one he favoured most. When they had to disappear for a while she knew the path without being told; she didn't mind to bask in the borrowed space. Diedre and her had a flat on their own squeezed into a crammed lane in downtown, yet being here felt more like home than anything else in her life.

The screen showed Vale's painted visage. She told of a bank heist in late afternoon, a ridiculously large microphone glued to ruby lips and that nerve-jangling glint in her brightly framed eyes. RIDDLER ON THE LOOSE. BATMAN LEAVES WITHOUT COMMENT. The lines rushed underneath her buttoned blouse, scolding her in silence. Did she ever get bored of this job? Nina bet she did. A lot.

 _You make it sound easy, lady._ she growled, having Vale disappear with a complacent click. _But nothing's_ _ever as easy as TV tells you._

Assuming a bank heist to be child's play bore a preposterous thought, even for long-established outlaws like them. Structure and plan were in need as much as thoughtful preparation, the hacking and hot-wiring of security cameras, bringing goons into position to serve as distraction for the bat's arrival, timing the explosion just right and more.

But what a rush it was in the end… and what a disaster it turned out to be.

She clucked her tongue andheaded to the kitchen. Without looking she threw the can in the bin that stood closest to the counter. The adrenalin staggered in her veins if only a sour aftermath of what she had felt before.

The heist had gone well as it could, with the Bat on their heel and the annoying boy wonder kicking sideways, hampering their getaway on his motorbike. If she was honest, it bordered on sheer luck they had escaped this time, a small inadvertence caused by the dark knight himself. A batarang he was too sure of slicing Diedre's good arm when in truth it barely grazed her flesh, leaving her with nothing but a cut and a damaged vest; a christmas present by the boss.

Diedre screamed more in anger than pain and Nina turned her head. WhenBatman's attempt to interrupt their gunfire failed, she switched focus and shot through the boy's shoulder. He went limp in an instant, clutching the spot as blood oozed beneath his fingers. A wondrous notion clung to his shocked face like lime.

Struggling to keep balance, the bike had drawn sluggish lines on tarred ground close to crashing Luigi's barber shop in Elm Street ahead. Batman had to choose between him and them and he went for the boy. _The least he could do_ she’d thought and pulled Diedre back into the car.

Nobody wore a weakness on their sleeve without facing consequences once in a while. Though there was this unspoken rule not to kill the baby bird in earnest – but in her defense, Batman had attacked _her_ friend first. She became rather impulsive when Diedre was involved, and due to working as a team, involved she was often. Of course Diedre was no stranger to violence herself yet Nina favored keeping a close eye on her.

She was not one to make illusions; she did not rue the act but the result it caused. She had hurt and killed grown men with no wish of hesitation in mind, yet that Robin she guessed to be fifteen, sixteen at most. Never had she pulled the trigger at someone this young and it was nothing she was keen on getting used to. The whole issue was a laughable thing actually as the big bad bat brought a kid into business like that. It made her think of her own father and an education no child would crave, but these were hollow thoughts for a hollow man thus she pushed them aside. She had an inkling the bat would be screwed by this sooner than later anyway.

A triumph for their people and a grave for the boy... and the ones who followed in his footsteps when the grave had been trampled over. Thinking the former had grown into this 'Nightwing' creature deemed no successfultransformation in her eyes. She remembered him to be younger than the second one when they met. Gracious and bold; careless too. It was a fluke he had survived this town, nothing more.

Her hand reached out till the shallow rise of a light switch pressed her fingers. A click and her gun gleamed bluntly in the lampshade. She went and took it, the weight and way in which the handle's grooves clung to her skin as familiar as the steady throb of pulse. A SFP9 she had bought years ago when she was dancing at _Pandora's Box_. The events inside this shed had crystallized to a dull porridge in her mind she avoided to stir up again. It had been a dark, narrow place in her life. The gun, Diedre and a nasty attitude were all she’d allowed herself to keep from there.

She looked at the weapon with a hint of melancholy, turned it around. Slightly worn on the sides, but in good shape. A roughly drawn question mark wrung around the butt, a sign of rare purple ugliness. Diedre had a twin model of the same caliber, but her own sad caricature snuggled linoleum green along the trigger; after meeting Eddie, they found it a funny thing to do. Having aquired a taste for this particular form of embellishment, they also designed their outfits themselves (though with their boss' concept in mind) who allowed them free hand since he found no reason to speak against their eagerness. At that time he had just as little experience in handling henchmen as the two women had in bowing to a man's command without breaking a chair over his head later. Not that they wouldn't have tried anyway but _damn_ , the boss could be fast if need be.

The memory put a smile on her lips. It lacked vigor compared to its earlier version all those years ago. But all starts usually stashed bittersweet feelings inside.

She slid back in the past much today, more often than she’d have liked to. She blamed the fatigue, the excitement, the gasoline for it. The raid had taken its toll and her bones ached, not to mention the long bruise creeping up her thigh. Stupid bat. Stupid Robin. Stupid heroism.

Stupid everything. She was tired.

For the pretentious sake of feeling safe, she put the weapon into her holster and stepped out of the kitchen. Her eyes fell on the couch nestled in the back of the room, pale with the night and what clouds had left. The bulky rise on the right side didn’t escape her view nor the almost fluorescent glow of long strands of hair hanging over a scratched backrest.

She approached softly, the tune of shoes churned by the carpet till mere inches parted her from the 'creature'. She leaned forward, hands resting on her thighs. Diedre proved an outstanding actress if she wanted to be – but this performance was downright lousy.

“Well, princess? How are we feeling tonight?“ She stood six seconds till Diedre tilted her face. Lakes of blue blinked as slits under tight-drawn eyelashes granting attention. Her cheeks shone rarely meager in the dark.

“Poisoned,“ she whispered back, the same reply she ever gave. A laggard smile tugged her mouth betraying her word. “You, honey?“

“Drunk,“ Nina said. In the least undrunk voice one could think of. It was a code rather of habit than meaning. After all, poisoned and drunk held a pretty well definition of their lives. Diedre sighed and rubbed her temple on a shoulder that didn’t belong to her.

„Where's the difference these days?“ she murmured. Nina knew it was a question Eddie would've caught up on quickly – if he hadn't been on the couch with his head put back, the blunt melody of his snores cracking the air around them.

She had not for that matter. She was no girl of answers but the ones rehearsed to serve as entertainment on occasion. She was still creative, but in a practical way that crashed through window panes when the water rose too high.

In silence, she watched her friend carefully lifting herself up, a small yawn picked from her lips. Her hair glided over her back and fell halfway across her chest. Nina would have almost reached out to put it behind her ear, but resisted.

Diedre often joked about her nose being too small and cheek bones too harsh making her the perfect barbie doll, but Nina liked her that way. She registered the plaster adorned with poorly drawn sunflowers covering the fresh wound on her arm. A scar would remain, one of many the bat's weapons had caused. Most of them were tender in the afterglow, paper-white lines in cream, only visible when the sun reached its most vulnerable angle. Barbie dolls didn’t have scars. Barbie dolls didn’t bruise. Barbie dolls didn’t wield weapons or cursed like a sailor or blushed when they were kissed between their breasts.

Nina knew about dolls. She had destroyed dolls in her childhood.

Her eyes hovered to her boss who looked like a humped monolith in the shadows.

“How long has he been sleeping?“ she asked. Diedre shrugged.

“Few minutes. Was a bitch to get him into a position we both agreed with. I mean, a man his age should know he’ll get back problems if he crouches like an armadillo but no, _of course_ he knows better.“

“Always does. How did you manage the unmanageable?“

“As said, it was a bitch. But so am I.“ She chuckled. “Won't wake up too fast, I guess – he's really done this time.“ Her fingertips carefully smoothed out the folds on his upper arm. “Did you see him sleep yesterday? He didn’t put up much of a fight.“ Nina pondered.Eddie's periods of rest were unsteady, messy. If he had a rhythm of any kind it was an irregular one at best.

“No. The light was still on when I dozed off. I didn’t catch him getting up either since he was the one rolling me off the couch.“

“That's Eddie to a tee. Couldn't wait to get back into the fray.“ Nina offered a decent enough smile.

“Yeah, he's been out of Arkham since last week. I’d have preferred it to take longer till he throws himself back into the game.“ Diedre furrowed a brow.

“What? Since when do you need a time-out? Darling, are you getting cozy on your old age?“ Nina poked her in warning.

“Shush you.I just thought a real holiday outside the madhouse would’ve done him good.“ Diedre rested her chin on her palm.

“You know Eddie, he never cared much for spa days. Perhaps he simply thought he'd run out of time. He’s been doting on that theme for a while now.“ Nina groaned.

“Don’t get me started on that painting, I'm far too groggy. His lecture was _exaggerating_ to say the least.“ Diedre smiled.

“Yeah. He was in a great mood.“ A wrinkle crept onto her forehead. “That’s probably why he got it in the first place. He fears to run out of time. Identity crisis or something.“

“Speak louder, I think Scarecrow hasn’t heard you yet.“

“Oh shush. Don’t tell me he wouldn’t smell Eddie’s angst for miles by now anyway.“She paused, suddenly sporting a guilty expression. “Wait,… that _is_ creepy, right? Shouldn’t joke about it.“ Nina made an indecisive gesture.

“What isn’t creepy in Gotham these days? Except the donut shop.“

“Touché. Louis is a saint.“

Nina snorted. Actually, she had no clue if there’d ever been a saint in Gotham to begin with. But even if, they had died out like the dinosaurs after the big bang.

She leaned back and pondered. Eddie’s fears. They weren’t as easy to make out as one might think. In truth, they seemed to change and waver with each year passing them by. If there was someone capable of distinguishing them at any given time though, it would have been no one but Crane. She couldn’t say she was happy about that, but discussing facts proved to be tiring work.

There were certainly a thousand other reasons that caused Ed to take the painting with him, just as there were a thousand reasons to part the bank from its few dollars now and not next tuesday. The moment of surprise (if still possible with the abundance of rogues in their districts) **,** his need to portray a successful criminal yet again, the continuous desire to give Batman a wipe... it could be anything and nothing. Just as Ed could be anything and nothing, depending on how he wanted to draw attention to himself and his schemes. She shut her eyes and breathed in deep. The days of spandex and laughter were gone for quite a while.

“Oh, by the way, talking about time; next month is our fifth anniversary.“Diedre's mouth formed an astonished, salmon-colored O.She almost looked like the Aerosmith loving teenager she used to be.

“The fifth already? Doesn't feel like five to me.“

“Same here,“ Nina said. In fact, she felt it to be longer. “What do you think? Shall we prepare something?“ Diedre’s answer was a grin. Now that was her kind of fun.

“Surprise party.“

“Champagne?“

“Gifts!“ Well, she should have seen that one coming.Nina opened her arms.

“If you have suggestions, please, I’m all ears.“

Instead of suggestions, she received an irritated blink. **“** But that's difficult,“ Diedre complained.Her lower lip stuck out, pouting. “I thought _you_ 'd do that.“

Nina grinned. Sometimes she refused to believe her friend was only one year younger than herself. In some ways, she still seemed to be the girl who used to steal kisses from the boys only to break into their lockers an hour later.

Nina knew a lot of these stories, as well as Dee knew a lot of hers.They’d always been less secretive with each other than with most of the people they’d encountered in their lives, even so at the beginning of it all. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Thankfully for the both of them, it had never proven otherwise.

Nina always had little use for those friendships shown in colorful tv-shows, but she kept the certainty that people dancing on poles side by side for several years snatched a certain amount of private affairs whether you planned them to do or not. How this knowledge was used in the end posed quite a different matter, but so it was at school, at the café, at every human-borne place on this goddamn wreck of a planet; either you ignored the fate of your fellow asshole as usual, or, from time to time, decided to be less of an asshole yourself and partake in their fate, thus making it part of your own. A wisdom she had learned from her mother early in life.

“Hey, you're the one who yelled 'gifts, gifts'.“ Diedre grumbled.

“You're a meanie. I just called out what you thought as usual.“ She crossed her arms, brows bowed in stern thoughtfulness. She remained in that position until Nina feared she had held her breath, being the stoic child she was. She leaned forward to shake her out of her artificial stiffness. Her heart did a backstop as Diedre's head jerked upwards, missing her **nasal tip** by a hair's breadth.

“Got it!“

Nina breathed out, pulse throbbing in her ears. “Awesome. Tell me.“

“A trophy!"

Nina looked at her in confusion.She had actually expected an idea in the range of 'Let's bake a giant cake and jump out of it chanting'.

“A trophy? You mean a cup or something? 'Boss of the year'?“ That was only half joking. Nina knew Ed liked cups and any kind of award although he refused to speak openly about it. Diedre measured her doubtful gaze.

“Well, in a way, yes“, she admitted. Her hands lifted, forming shapes Nina did not recognize. “I thought of those golden figures standing on a pedestal. I told you about my big brother, didn't I? Elias has a golf trophy at his disposal so anyone who enters the living room must see it. He's very proud of it, has the thing polished and all. Perhaps we find someone who’ll put one of Eddie's question marks on top instead. And then we stick a badge with his name underneath, easy as that. Wouldn’t that be a nice gesture?“

Nina sunk further into her seat. Eddie’s monotonous snores followed her every move.

“His very own trophy ...“ Diedre rubbed her arms, avoiding eye contact.

“Don't look at me like that. It was just an idea,“ she said quickly. Nina shook her head.

 **“** No! I mean, no, the idea's not bad. Maybe we also find someone incorporating green LEDS to illuminate it at night? He'd probably be, well, _delighted_.“

It had Diedre laugh. “Oh poor Nina! You've been under the Riddler's influence for so long you start making the same awful puns! Do you think he'll remember the anniversary too?“

“No idea. I doubt Batman will leave us alone during the next days. Kinda miffed about me shooting his baby boy. Ed’s got bigger things to worry about than spoiling his sidekicks.“ Diedre looked slightly disappointed at that. But she knew the pattern too well to complain.

“Okay... what about us then? Any plans?“

“We'll be undercover again“, Nina said immediately. “A wig and colored contact lenses should do.“

“Ah, yes. But this time you'll take the red one. I looked terrible. We were lucky no one compared me to one of Joker’s goons.“

“As if you could ever look terrible, Dee. Bet’cha Harley would be jealous of you. If she isn’t already.“ Diedre smiled.

“You're so sweet when you lie.“

“I’m tired and say the same stupid things I always say - that's what I am," Nina replied drily, running fingers through her hair. Diedre's smile was lost by the minute, worry replacing the weak veil of indifference in an instant. Nina wanted to sigh again, but she stopped herself. Just as she should have stopped before giving that silly, sarcastic answer. She hated the things to come.

“Nina, are you okay?“ She was never prepared for this question, and thus could never think of a satisfying answer in return.

Was she doing okay? In doing so, what was ’okay‘ nowadays? She wondered rarely and why should she? There was no good reason to be not ’okay‘. And without good reason, how dare she ought to behave differently from a working and flourishing image of modern life. It kept no logic inside. Eddie thrived on logic, and she wasn’t averse to the concept either, as difficult as it was for her to maintain it most times.

“Yes.“ She inspected her intertwined hands. Outside, another siren called. Crows caved at the clouds.Her weapon rubbed warm and firm against the fabric of her jeans. 

They had escaped. They spent the night in an apartment and not in jail. It was, simply put, another day in paradise; all they needed right here, within each other, in that promiscous range between acceptable and ever close to collapse.

“It's fine. I'm just exhausted. It’s been a long night.“ The next lie slips faster from your tongue than the first, always does. Just tired. Too much beer. Too much of everything and anything. Ever the same, and a thousand variations of the before and after.

Diedre knew them all. The excuses, the half-truths, the popular hide-and-seek. God knows she had heard them often enough with repetitions running like a scratched record since Nina had never been too imaginative in such matters. Still, she looked at her with affection. There was unchanged warmth waiting in her eyes whenever she felt the cold crawling over her. 

For that, Nina trusted her with her life – although she thought it less valuable than the spoils they safely carried into their hiding-place.

Sometimes, the fixed thought that one day this warmth was doomed to vanish one way or another too put its claws into her brain. She didn’t want to think about it, but had been taught early in life that nothing was truly meant to last; no friend, no enemy, no relationship and neither beautiful nor bad miracles.Yet the possibility itself drowned a bitter aperitif down her throat. She swallowed, the urge to choke her jolly good fellow. A cloud of moldy beer odor steamed up her neck and she grimaced in apology as she burped. Diedre was gracious enough to ignore it. It had become an essential part of their relationship by now.

“You seem cold, dearie“, she said, winking towards the green sleeve of the suit jacket that had turned as self-evident as the mole behind Nina's right ear. “The pillow's made. Come.“

Nina looked at her in confusion. Then, faltering back into reality, she managed to roll her eyes. However, she couldn’t deny that despite all her efforts **,** she felt drained to the marrow. She didn’t know whether it was the alcohol or the robbery, the memory of a past not worth living or the mixture of all three; but more than anything, she longed for a bed. Yet the bed in the guest room seemed as far as the ocean now.

Yawning, she stood up just to flop next to her boss. The lining of the couch groaned at the added weight.

“Eddie, if ya can hear us in there; don't be angry. You're the smartest and most comfortable pillow we know. We never had better, promise“, she mumbled, settling herself into the loose curve of the Riddler’s unprotected side.

Eddie probably would’ve accepted the praise with a hum and a comment, had he been able to do so. Instead, he muttered incomprehensible vowels that barely matched the eloquent English he otherwise sought. None of that was addressed to them. At least he did not curse –foul languagegenerally linked to nightmares, and nightmares were something he could hardly handle at the present time. Not that he ever could. His girls knew.

With heavy limbs, Nina lay her head on her boss's shoulder, mirroring Diedre. She breathed in his cologne burdened by the rough scent of metal and paint. His pulse set a lovely pace for once, slow and steady. A rare experience to see him calm, a consistent bundle of nerves elsewise when he mourned another battle lost, a new shame collected to his unwholesome gallery. It was... nice. She warned herself not to get used to it. Surprises as these kept the love fresh after all.

Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized Diedre wrapping her hands around Ed's arm and holding onto it like a child. Something about the image had bells ringing in the back of her head, but she was too weary to question it now. Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow, they’d have all the time the world could offer.

Wrinkles appearing on her forehead, she hid her face in the fabric and skin beneath, and buried her conscious in the presence that had become so close to her heart, she’d have broken into Arkham herself to get it back. Diedre felt the same way. Another reason they proved such a good match.

Squinting, her eyes turned to the door and the hallway close behind it. Batman could be quiet as a mouse, but even he wouldn't burst into the apartment without her noticing. Busted or not, she had a light sleep.

If he cracked the lock open, she would hear it and grab for her gun. If he came over the balcony, it would be the draft on her skin that alarmed her, and the couch posed an acceptable barricade once the opportunity occured.

He would be alone. She hardly believed he’d allow the boy to go back on patrol with the wound in tow. His condition would have been more of a hindrance than a help, not to mention an even easier target than before. 

Yet if the bat was busy with someone else tonight, her hardened muscles would yell at her in ache in the morning and her horrid beer-breath would wake the dead themselves. But here, cowered in warmth and the rhythm of hushed breath, she forgot to care. For a while, at least.

There was a bunch of people marked as 'family' in the north she did not miss. The boys and girls of her former gang might still have roamed the streets somewhere far away, holding guns and telling stories about little Nina hitting her aims blindfolded. She couldn’t care about that either – she wasn't one of them anymore. Had she ever been in truth? What was past had long become a blur on the starless sky of Gotham's nights, pulling her in. But then again, present itself turned out to be no more than an inkblot eating paper often enough in this city.

As she finally lay to rest, her slurred thoughts clung to the anniversary coming up, a loose thread in the nirvana of her mind she was too afraid to let go of. These thoughts were dangerous. They spoke to her with a voice she didn’t want to hear but failed to forget. And just like Diedre, they asked her questions she was never eager to reply to.

 _What is this life to you?_ was one of them, sharp as a needle.

 ** _Short._** was her curt answer. Eady. It was the only one suitable to a life like this.

 _What is time?_ She sneered. Of course. That damn painting. The **pain** of it.

**_Borrowed._ **

_And what are you?_

She huffed. Questions, questions bothering her. Poking her brain like Ed’s lecture did, _The Persistence of Memory_. The clocks had melted and stretched on canvas, but in her mind they ticked on regardless. Clocks with hearts, hands with bombs. Were hearts not bombs too? What did Dalí really try to portray?

Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Waiting. Waiting. Stagnation in her lung.

Dalí and his madness clothed as sun. Eddie and his talent clothed as madness. Or the other way round? The quirks of a master seemed so strange and neat. And what clothes did she wear underneath her question mark suit? That leather jacket of her youth or the meshed haute couture of a pole dancer? A symbiosis of nobody and their shadow? Was it ever more than that... could she even have handled being more than a mask?

She groaned. Enough, enough of such nonsense – she sounded like the mad hatter by now. He was an ally to Ed most times, but she didn’t like his habit for blonde girls. Barbie girls. He called them Alice.

**_Diffluent I am. A passerby on a road leading to dead ends whereever I go. I have my role to play. I'll always have my role... till I haven't. Till it's time to go and rehearse for a new one._ **

_You've stayed for five years now. When will you change your role this time?_

She dived deeper into silence, shutting her eyes with force.

 **_I don't know. Maybe I like this one too much to leave. Maybe this role is what I am in the end. I get on this stage and I’ll earn my applause and gunshots. I'm a good henchwoman, ain’t I ? I like these people. I like my girl, I like my man. They've become_ ** _my_ **_people. And I know those riddles well. This costume fits me better than the last one, and –_ **

_But are you happy?_

She halted, her muscles tensing. Eddie, on some deep-woven level of his subconsciousness, grunted, and tilted his head into her direction.

**_…Happy?_ **

_Yes._ said the voice. Stern and loving. Strong and weak.

Nina pondered. She heard Diedre mumble from the other side. She reached out immediately, and their hands met over the Riddler’s heaving belly, resting there tightly intertwined. A ragged smile tore her face, and she put her red lips onto the jacket’s shoulder, smearing a kiss on shades of jade she’d get in trouble for in the morning.

**_Oh, momma. I don’t even know what that is._ **

**_Did you?_ **


End file.
